Just as long as we have we
by Jinxgirl
Summary: Circa fourth season, Santana and Quinn keep each other company as they remember previous Christmases without those who matter most. Quinntana friends/flirtation.


"I hate Christmas," Santana declared, her voice loud, defiant, and slightly slurred in pitch. "But I loooove eggnog!"

She raised the wine glass in her hand as though for emphasis, tilting it up precariously high from her prone position on the twin bed she was lying on, so that what remained of its contents tipped dangerously close to spilling over. The girl beside her on the bed raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched into a half smile, half smirk, and she didn't move from her own relaxed position on the bed, nor did she remove her legs from their trapped position beneath Santana's as she commented dryly.

"I think you love it more when it's less eggnog than rum."

"That too," Santana acknowledged, giving her a sage nod.

She swayed the glass back and forth over her head as she kicked at Quinn's foot with hers, seeming to want her to perform a specific action of some kind having to do with it. When the blonde didn't seem to automatically understand what it was she wanted, Santana made a noise of impatience in her throat and nudged her with her elbow as well.

"Quinnnn toast!"

"You probably need some toast about now…soak up all the booze," Quinn mumbled, but the ease of her smile, the mellow glint to her hazel eyes, and the lazy way that she reached up to clink her own glass against Santana's indicated clearly that she was not actually judging her friend for her less than sober state.

She watched as Santana took a long swallow from the glass, taking a sip from her own, and then set her glass on her nightstand, allowing her body to fall back again to rest on her mattress. Her shoulder collided with Santana's, her head touching the other girl's as well so their hair mingled in a mass of black and blonde, and she remained quiet, content, vaguely aware of her own even breathing and that of Santana's beside her.

That is, until Santana broke the peacefulness with a bark of a laugh.

"Does Judy think I'm seducing you up here, or did your fall from grace sophomore year mean she's totally come around to the Christianity dark side and you're gonna get a free pass to get as kinky as you want?"

Quinn exhaled, rolling her eyes; although she was somewhat tipsy as well, she wasn't too intoxicated for Santana's words not to give her a slight pang in her chest. She shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to put much more effort than that into her response.

"I don't think it would even cross her mind that I could go gay or be seduced by you. She knows you're gay, but I think she put that out of her mind and stuffed as deep down into a bottle of Chianti as she can so she can keep putting on a pleasant hostess smile when you come over. You know, like she does with anything else she doesn't want to hear."

Quinn chuckled, but the sound was more sad than amused, and she let out a sigh that visibly moved through her chest. Santana tilted her head towards her, having to look at her somewhat cross eyed from such a close angle, and reached out to pat her cheek, giving her a loose smile that didn't entirely reach her eyes.

"Hey, at least she's here…sorta…maybe none of the other important people are, but your mom's in the same room with you! I mean…same place…same house…same…you know…"

She trailed off, seeming to have confused herself as she scrunched up her nose, and Quinn chuckled again, nudging the other girl's shoulder with hers gently.

"Better lay off the eggnog, San…you already cried once tonight."

"I did not!" she protested immediately, although this was in fact true; her eyes were still red-rimmed and slightly mascara-stained from the tears that had started when she couldn't figure out how to open the bottle of rum, and only Quinn's fixing her the drink and literally holding it for her to sip for the first few seconds had settled her down. "That was just…expressions of frustration and…stuff…and…"

She trailed off, seeming to have lost her words again, and kicked her leg against Quinn's in lieu of this, mumbling under her breath sulkily. "Did not."

Quinn didn't push it, though the mascara stains on her sheet proved otherwise. She knew very well, although neither had voiced it aloud, that the real reason behind Santana's precarious grip on tears, her desire to drink, and the reason she had come over on Christmas Eve and practically snuggled up close to Quinn in her bed rather than stay home with her own family was almost entirely due to Brittany. It was Santana's first Christmas without Brittany since they were five years old, her first Christmas post break-up, and whether or not she wanted to admit it aloud, the Latina was struggling.

She didn't say anything. She just let her legs press against Santana's, her head tilting against the other girl's, shoulder to shoulder, and waited, knowing that if she held her silence, then Santana would speak some more. It didn't take very long for her to break. Sniffling, Santana rolled over so one arm and one leg was fully draped over Quinn, her face burying in the other girl's shoulder as she half mumbled, half wailed, "Why does Christmas have to SUCK?!"

Quinn wrapped a loose arm over Santana's back, patting her gingerly as the other girl snuffled and sobbed into her shoulder. She didn't have to say more than one word to make herself understood.

"Brittany?"

"Yesss I miss her," Santana's voice was muffled against her, and Quinn could feel her skin growing slightly damp through the material of her sweater. "She's supposed to be with me…we're supposed to go out and walk around looking at Christmas lights…and sit on the roof looking for Rudolph…and come back inside and snuggle up watching Nightmare Before Christmas…and I'm supposed to cover her eyes at the scary parts…and who's gonna cover her eyes this year? SAM won't know when to…SAM will probably let her fall off the roof when she gets excited 'cause he'll probably be standing up and letting her do cartwheels…she's supposed to be with ME."

Quinn didn't say anything; she didn't know what she would have said, honestly. She just stroked Santana's head gently, letting her get out what she needed to, and tried to keep her own thoughts from detracting into gloom. It was difficult though, with her sobbing best friend pressed against her, grieving the absence of her loved one, to remember exactly how many people she herself always seemed to lose, just before the holidays; how many people in her life who should be there never seemed to be.

Sophomore year, of course, she had spent Christmas with the Puckermans, as Finn had just found out that Beth wasn't his. Because Puck was Jewish, Quinn hadn't celebrated Christmas at all, and despite Puck's efforts at being kind and sensitive on that day towards her, she had spent the majority of the 25th crying in his mother's guest room, unable to feel anything but utter depression. Her parents had chosen not to have anything to do with her; it was the first Christmas that she had spent without them, and although she didn't miss some of the stress and hypocrisy that had come with it, she did miss them.

She must have made a noise without realizing it, because Santana looked up at her then, still teary, but regaining control. She wiped at her eyes and nose, then leaned her chin against Quinn's shoulder, her voice thick as she spoke to her.

"I think we take turns having sucky Christmases."

"Why do you say that?" Quinn asked, though she knew the answer already.

"'Cause this year…I don't have Brittany," Santana swallowed, her voice giving a slight hitch but otherwise maintaining some control. She played with a corner of the blanket, not looking at Quinn as she continued. "Last year, I didn't have my abuela…and half the family wouldn't show up either, the ones taking her side. The year before that, I think that was Beth's first Christmas? And you still didn't have your dad…and the year before that, you were at Puck's or something since your parents were still being asses."

Hearing it laid out that plainly, it did sound pretty sucky to Quinn. And Santana was right; it was like they were taking turns. She sighed, lightly patting Santana's arm as she breathed out through her nose, trying and failing to come up with a satisfying response.

"Well…maybe next year it's Rachel's turn?"

Santana laughed at this, her eyes squinting slightly, and one of her hands wrapped around Quinn's arm lightly as she nodded, releasing another sigh. Quinn could feel her breath against her shoulder when she spoke again, her voice thick.

"Tell me about your other sucky Christmases."

Quinn's eyebrow quirked, and she gave a faint laugh as she looked down at her friend.

"Really? And that's gonna help you feel better how, exactly? So you can laugh at my misery?"

"Yes," Santana nodded against her, seeming to have no trouble admitting this, like the average person might. "Misery loves company…tell me!"

"Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I don't like talking and thinking about things that completely suck?" Quinn sighed, but when she looked down at Santana, it seemed to her that it might actually be the better option to relive her own misery as long as it kept her from patting Santana's back as she cried all night- which was a rather strong threatening option, if she opted out of it. Adjusting her arm loosely around the Latina with another sigh, she started to scan her mind for memories. It wasn't difficult; even on the years that her family had been intact, before the scandal of her pregnancy, their Christmases had never been genuinely joyful, but more of a show of their "success" of being the Fabray family.

"Well, there was the year when I was four, and for some reason Dad went shopping with Mom and Frannie and me for probably the first and last time in a mall. I saw the area where kids go and sit with Santa, and I asked if I could. Dad got all uptight and upset, right there in the middle of a shopping mall, and told me very loudly that Santa was a pagan imaginary figure that consumers and un-Christian liberals worshipped in the place of the one true God, and he was so loud and putting his face so close to me and telling me Santa was this evil thing but also that it didn't exist. I was scared and I started crying, and he dragged me out to the car and Frannie was embarrassed and hissing at me under my breath, telling me I was a stupid baby and everyone knew Santa wasn't real, that it was my fault that Dad was mad now and we probably wouldn't get any presents at all. Then as soon as we were in the car Dad wanted to know who had told me about Santa and started screaming at Mom and telling her she was raising me like a heathen. By the time we got home Frannie had pinched me about ten times trying to make me stop crying and Dad was yelling at me for crying more and Mom was crying and went to go get her wine, and Dad stormed through the house and locked himself in his study and wouldn't let me watch any Christmas movies or TV shows the rest of the month."

Quinn paused, her lips pressing tightly together with this memory, and then exhaled, her shoulders dropping. "I think…that's probably the last time I let my dad see me cry, since he was so angry about it. Until…until Beth."

Santana had been listening quietly, her forehead creased faintly, and when her hand crept into Quinn's, Quinn let her hold it, even returning the gentle squeeze she gave her.

"Your dad is a dick," Santana announced, and when Quinn didn't respond, she lightly poked the corner of the blonde's mouth, seeming to be trying to make her smile. "The gross diseased kind. Your dad is a Scrooge. The old ugly Scrooge who didn't go all Christmas sappy. Your dad is a Grinch. The kind that didn't get a growing medically dangerous heart. Your dad is-"

"I get the picture, San, thanks," Quinn interrupted her, but she was smiling slightly in spite of herself, and she squeezed her hand again.

Seeming to feel that she needed to share as well, tit for tat, Santana offered, "I remember when I was four, I got up at like, three am, to try to catch Santa on Christmas day…I went sneaking in there and I saw all the presents by the tree, but then I got the shit scared out of me because Mami had put up this huge cardboard cut-out Santa by the tree, and I thought it was Santa and he'd seen me and he was going to think I was bad and take all my presents away. So I ran back towards my room but it was dark and I tripped in the middle of the hall and fell down, and then I just started bawling because my knee hurt and I was totally convinced Santa was going to take all my shit away. Mami and Papi heard me and came in and Mami picked me up and showed me it was just cardboard and Santa already left, and put me back to bed and stuff, but I still remember how scared I was."

Quinn supposed she had meant to share the story as one of commiseration, but it hadn't had the desired effect. Instead the blonde laughed, amused and a little touched by the idea of a curly-haired, mischievous, but much more innocent little Santana, heart-broken at the fear of not getting her gifts from Santa. Santana pouted towards her, giving her shoulder a shove, but then she was trying to hide a smile too in spite of herself, even as she shook her head at her.

"That was devastating! Don't laugh at me!"

"I can see you having a tantrum at 3 am on Christmas Day…god, you must have given your parents hell," Quinn shook her head, still chuckling, but Santana's expression was serious as she shook her head back at her, her humor disappeared.

"No, I didn't, not usually. Abuela would have given me hell for trying."

Looking at Santana sideways, Quinn knew that the other girl was thinking of Alma Lopez now, how this marked the second Christmas in a row that the woman was no longer a part of her life. She didn't say anything, simply keeping her arm around Santana, keeping her close, and after a few minutes the girl spoke on her own, her voice soft.

"She used to roll her eyes, when I would put out carrots for the reindeer, especially when Brittany started getting me to put out glitter and fruit loops too…but she would let me, and she wouldn't tell me that it wasn't real. She would give me something every year that had to do with being Latina, or with our family, once I was old enough to know that it was special, and every year she'd make me sing in the church choir on Christmas Eve, even though she never told me it was because she thought I had a good voice. I knew she did because of how she'd smile when I was finished, and the way she'd touch my shoulder when she walked with me back to the car. I always thought going to church on Christmas Eve with her was boring, and I didn't want to…but now…I kinda wish she'd make me do it again."

Her voice was slow, a tear starting to trickle down her cheek, and Quinn swallowed, nodding. She could relate to this all too well.

"Yeah. I still go with my mom, sometimes, but it's not really the same. I don't feel as hypocritical or desperate, like I'm trying as hard, but…it's just not the same, only the two of us. Sometimes it feels better, but sometimes it feels so much worse."

Her voice was soft too, meant for herself more than for Santana. Santana nodded faintly, another tear slipping down her cheek, and she sniffled as she met Quinn's gaze.

"We never did Christmas together before…we're always missing people and we didn't do stuff together…how come?"

Quinn shrugged; honestly, she had no answer, at least not one that was a very good one.

"Well…freshman year we were at each other's throats, and sophomore too. Junior year and senior year you had Brittany and I don't think you were concerned very much about me, and I wasn't about to ask anyone for anything. So…I guess this year is the first year neither of us have anyone, so we end up stuck with each other."

"You feel like you're stuck with me?" Santana's tone was hurt, and because she was still crying a little, Quinn hurried to amend this, even as she rolled her eyes at her own sappiness.

"I mean this year we both actually realized we HAVE each other…god, can we get any more Christmas special here?"

Santana let out a faint laugh then, but she seemed to be genuinely appeased by Quinn's self-correction. For another few moments they lay together, Santana's tears easing off, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. Both girls were comfortable, at ease, if not peaceful, and when Santana's fingers slowly started to stroke over Quinn's arm, she didn't move away, not finding it awkward, as she normally might. And when Santana stretched her neck, gently kissing Quinn's lips, she didn't protest or pull away. In fact, after a moment's pause, she kissed her back.

Their kiss was not passionate or heated, nor did it last more than a few seconds in total. It was gentle and almost chaste, a meeting of hearts as much as it was mouths, and when Quinn pulled back, mildly confused, she nevertheless felt no anxiety over its having occurred. When Santana giggled, blinking down at her, Quinn's lips turned up in a half smile even as she questioned her.

"San…what was that?"

"I don't know…weird…but kinda alright," the other girl shrugged, even as she twined her fingers around Quinn's arm around, laying her head back down against her shoulder. "Just pretend there was mistletoe and call it a night."

Any other night, Quinn might have got uptight or even upset, overanalyzing both Santana's action and her own response. Any other night, she might have bolted out of bed and left Santana to her own devices, even if that meant the night would end in tears on both or either's side. But any other night this probably never would have happened at all, and tonight it seemed unremarkable, even right. So she lay back with Santana, wrapping her arm around her waist and resting her head against hers, and she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing so close to her own.

Sappy it might be, but she was right. This year, they did have each other, even if nothing else in the world seemed right.

end


End file.
